


No Pulse

by akio_momiji



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Fluff, Romantic Soulmates, Shimada bros fallout, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Young Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:37:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21941275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akio_momiji/pseuds/akio_momiji
Summary: In a world where people do not have a pulse unless they have met their soulmate, Angela encounters a young man she feels at home with.
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	1. Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emiza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emiza/gifts).



> My secret Santa gift for emiza and my first ever Soulmate AU! <3

“Blood flow just fine, temperature stable, no pulse,” murmured Angela Ziegler as she examined a patient that had just exited surgery.

“You can transfer him to the wake-up room. He’ll be alright. Give him an infusion with a painkiller, though,” she instructed the nurses, then turned around to complete the records as some assistants around her cleaned up the operation room.

Patients with no pulse but otherwise in good health were no novelty for the experienced doctor. In fact, she prided herself with being able to tell whether a patient would have a pulse or not. Having worked with all kinds of people, it was truly easy to tell.

Married people usually came with a pulse. Women who came to give birth always had a pulse from what Angela knew, and also those receiving many visitors usually came with a pulse.

Those without a pulse were usually young people, children, teens, young adults. Lots of accomplished people who ran businesses or worked from home had no pulse either.

One of these accomplished people who rarely functioned outside their work environment was Angela herself.

In her job, there was always something to do and she was on-call around the clock. Whenever paramedics and medical assistants did not know further, Angela would be called for—no matter how early or late it was. Thus, the majority of her time was spent in the hospital. There had been a few times when she even packed some clothes, her toothbrush and other necessities and spent the night at work, in empty rooms whenever there were any, or in the break room between cheap chairs, iron lockers and the smell of way too thin coffee.

Oftentimes, she cursed how she had chosen to live this far away from her workplace when her presence was so important. On the other hand, her house in the countryside was close to her heart. After all, she had grown up surrounded by the serenity of mountains and meadows—mountain breeze in her face and hair and around her ears—and it was something she couldn’t easily give up on, something which Angela had tried to recreate ever since she had been forced to relocate for the greater good.

Yet, whenever she came back to her house for more than a few hours, she found how vast and empty it was, how much of a waste of space and resources. he was barely home.If she did return, there was no one to greet her except her inner doubts and demons.

The house was probably big enough to host a family of four or five. Back in the day, she would have hosted dinners for friends and old acquaintances to enjoy, but said friends by now were friends no more, scattered all over the globe, or Angela had simply outlived them.

This evening was one of those where Angela was able to go home. The traffic in the city was terrible, but the innumerable cars scattered in all directions once they left the crowded place behind. Driving along the empty country road then and Angela could see the sun set already, with its golden rays peeking through a few clouds.

_Romantic_ , thought Angela, _terribly romantic._

Sunsets like these, she had watched them countless times when she was young, but never had there been anyone on her side; she had always been fine on her own as long as she could practice her profession. Yet, as the sky turned orange and then, purple, she felt the silence smother her and she put on the radio.

“ _Lalala Soulmates are forever lalalalaalalalala,”_ the singer on the radio sang, almost as if he were convinced a soulmate was all one needed to live a fulfilled life.

Before becoming a medical professional, Angela had not believed in the whole soulmate thing. Back in the day, she had believed that humans had simply developed into a state where they needed no more pulse to live a good life. Her parents—they had never had a pulse, yet from what she remembered, they had loved each other dearly regardless.

The first time she had been confronted with an individual who had a pulse, she had thought he suffered some kind of rare condition that had to be treated. She remembered calling for her supervisor, only to be told that this was, in fact, a normal state of being for those who had found their fated person—their soulmate—someone whose pulse had started in unison.

Obviously, young and inexperienced as Angela was back then, she felt bamboozled and tried to do counter-research the very same evening—without success. The majority of her life thus, she had been oblivious of how their world worked.

Right when the song on the radio ended and the two radio moderators started talking about trivialities some celebrities had gone through this week, Angela pulled into her driveway and turned the radio off. She stepped out of her car, locked it, and soon could step inside her hallway.

Upon entering, she shivered a little. The past days, she had barely been here, and thus she had not switched on any of her heaters, even though it was late autumn and the weather was getting frostier with every passing day. She slept much better when the rooms were cool and the air was moisturised, and since all she did was sleep once she got home, turning on the heaters felt like an unnecessary chore. When she entered the living room, her gaze fell on the fireplace. Back when she had this house built, she wanted this fireplace so much, imagined spending cosy evenings by the fire, warmth and the smell of wood spreading all over the place. Reality though, was neither cosy nor warm, and it reeked of blood and disinfectant.

Too little time was there to get firewood, to clean out ashes, to light and maintain the fire. Cold and silence, thought Angela, they were simply easier to befriend.

She put down her purse on one of the drawers and pulled out her hair tie with a languid sigh. Her hair felt greasy between her fingers, not even half a can of dry shampoo could have masked it anymore.

“Shower,” Angela murmured, and soon found herself in the bathroom. The soft splattering of water as she waited for the shower to warm up was calming to her mind and ears. She swiftly undressed and became even calmer when finally she could step inside and the sound and warmth engulfed her whole. She now felt that a languid, warm shower like this one had long been overdue and she cherished every second of it. After soaking in the fresh water for a while, she reached for her shampoo bottle and rinsed her hair thoroughly, the body wash followed.

As she carefully rinsed her body from head to toe. As she did this, her gaze fell on a strange mark on her left hipbone. For years, she had thought it to be a strange anomaly, maybe a pigment disorder or a strangely shaped birthmark, but back when she tried to argue against the existence of a world order where soulmates who found each other gained a pulse, she found that everyone had these marks on different parts of their body, and that they played a vital role in starting a person's pulse at all.

In fact, one's soul mark was only matched with that of one's fated person. Soulmates who had found one another, had reported that their soul marks were never identical in placement, but always identical in shape. It seemed that when two identical marks were in each other's immediate vicinity, the people's pulse would start beating and never stop again- unless one of the soulmates met an untimely end or one of the two marks was otherwise vanquished by losing a limb or other things Angela barely dared to think about.

Angela's own soul mark had kind of a weird shape, she found. It was a slightly curved line with some edges that stood out. At one of its ends, the line parted. With some imagination, it almost looked like a dragon with a lot of spikes and its mouth wide open. She let out a bitter chuckle as she thought that it was no wonder she would spend all eternity without a pulse. Anyone who saw such an abomination of a mark would have it removed in an instant after all!

A bit lost in thought, Angela traced the mark with her fingers. In spite of its weird shape, it felt neat and soft somehow. It was not bumpy like a scar or a birth mark, but seamlessly merged into her otherwise rather pale and slightly rosy skin. She had seen countless marks of other people by now, most of them during medical check-ups she ran or during surgeries. Some had very simple shapes like a square or a splash, others looked more complex, much like Angela's own. For most people Angela knew of, all marks felt equally soft, as if they were part of something deep inside or even beyond the body that medicine could not yet comprehend.

Had it not been for her phone ringing and her pager going off soon after, Angela could well have spent a few more minutes chasing errant thoughts as warm water ceaselessly rained down on her. Reluctantly, she turned off the water and let the cold wind brush over her as she stepped out of the shower's safe walls. Maybe, she thought, maybe it was about time to turn on the heaters after all. But ah, whom was she kidding? Swiftly, she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body in order to not freeze too much and risk a cold, then she muted her pager and picked up her phone with still half-wet and wrinkled hands, murmuring: “What is it now again?”

______________

Back when Angela had taken her shower and picked up the phone, she had not expected to find herself on a transpacific flight just hours after.

The plane was crowded with all kinds of people and the medic felt a bit smothered by them walking back and forth in the narrow aisles and lowering the backrest of their seats so far that Angela could not even place her laptop on the small table anymore. How was she supposed to work like this? Right after Angela received the call from a group of international medics based in Tokyo, Japan, and she agreed on working with them, they had sent her important files regarding her patient, urging her to read and memorise them before she arrived. But with people around her walking, shuffling, talking or watching movies with way too high volume, Angela soon gave up, at least on the memorising part. _A blind date_ , she thought, _this will be a blind date._

Even though Angela rarely knew about her patients beforehand, the fact that she was unable to read into these files caused her great discomfort. If these people went out of their way to call someone from overseas to help them with a case, it had to be truly important and far from easy. She pulled up her legs with a curl of her lips, slightly bumping the backrest of the person in front of her. She was not sorry. Discourteous folks who didn't know how to sleep while sitting up. _How barbaric!_

Crossing her legs on her seat, she somehow managed to place her laptop and open it. She groaned internally when the screen's light blinded her and she had to turn it down and enable the blue filter once more. Updates. It had to be the updates that had screwed up all her settings! She swiftly typed her password and before her appeared the files she had already skimmed before takeoff, but which he could impossibly read through during the time remaining. The person before her let out a loud snore, causing Angela to curse under her breath and wish for something she rarely wished for: for the old, glorious days to return where she could ride anywhere in the world in a private jet- without people shuffling, snoring and watching movies on way too high volume, obviously keen on hearing loss. Everyday life, it was full of these dangers, but Angela was yet to see what dangers her patient had went through instead.

  
______________


	2. Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 of my Secret Santa for Emiza!

Genji was ecstatic. Who needed a pulse when there was a beat and the throbbing of a cheering crowd?

The arcade was well-filled this Saturday evening as autumn's crisp air pulled the youths of Hanamura from the cold of the streets and their homes to a warmer and less forced environment. Some of the faces in the crowd, Genji knew already, for he saw them here a lot, others were new, sparking curiosity inside the lively young man.

Swiftly, his feet slid over the dance pad, almost making it seem as if he could foresee what move was to come next. Music blasted from the speakers, the heavy bass creeping under the Genji's skin, making him feel radiant, bold and seen. This- it had to be what true bliss felt like. Genji did not think that anyone ever could come into his life and recreate the sheer ecstasy of bass under his skin and cheers in his ears. No pulse or soulmate could ever achieve this. People were temporary- the beat was forever. Genji did not fear loneliness. He knew, deep inside his heart, that there would always be someone coming along, always someone waiting for him, he never would have to be alone for people loved and admired him so much, they would love his company no matter what.

The music stopped and the crowd went wild, applauding and cheering as Genji wiped some sweat off his forehead and gazed at the screen. His lips curved into a smug grin when he realized he had beaten his own high score from last time. He winked at a random girl in the crowd, then went off, casually putting his arm around the shoulders of an old friend of his.

“Now, Hasebe-san, how is it? You still want that revanche in street fighter? Or should I win you a plushie instead?” he snickered.

His friend, Hasebe Daisuke, groaned and struggled free from Genji's arm.

“Very funny,” he murmured as the two of them went over to the vending machines, not without some boys and girls whispering and snickering and Genji shooting them a wink or two.

“Ah Hasebe-san, come on! Don't be a killjoy, you almost seem like my brother just now!” Genji complained as Daisuke threw some coins into the vending machine and apparently pondered over what drink to choose.

“I'm not that stuck-up,” he mumbled, pressing a number on the vending machine, “And don't _-san_ me.”

A can of peach soda rolled out, but before Daisuke could grab it, Genji had already taken it.

“Genji Shimada! Give that back at once!”

Genji snorted, fumbled with the opening bit and smirked when he heard the gentle sizzling of the soda. Yet, when he opened the can a little more, the sizzling grew louder, foam gathered at the opening, and suddenly, sticky, sweet soda spilled from the can, all over Genji's expensive clothes. “Ack!” he made and held the foaming container away from himself.

Daisuke only snickered and took the can from Genji's hand. “Serves you right, Shimada, don't you think?” he sneered and then put the can to his lips, pouring down all the soda at once.

Genji pouted, shaking his hand slightly to get rid of the liquid dripping from it. Yet, his iconic smirk soon returned to his face.

In the street, members of the houses of Shimada and Hasebe would avoid one another like the plague, but in the arcade, Hasebe and Shimada where the inseparable big shots. What they shared was what their families' elders called “a blatant disregard of family traditions, responsibilities and their duty.” This was to say that the lives of Genji and Daisuke were all about fun and nothing about what their elders liked to call responsibilities. To the two of them, anything their elders demanded were nothing but shackles.

Both young men had elder brothers, both with a strict and demanding nature and a great sense of duty. Sometimes, Genji and Daisuke joked about them, trying to impersonate the other's brother as best as they could, saying things like “Genji, you must practice your sword.” in the Shimada heir's low voice, or “Daisuke, you are late, I will ground you.” in the Hasebe brother's more nasal one. They would have plenty of laughs about this, while deep down harbouring great admiration and love for them.

Unfortunately, not long ago, Genji's father had passed away, which had put a great strain on the Shimada brothers' relationship. Hanzo had become increasingly withdrawn and was barely available as he tried to make sense of what their father had left them. Genji dealt differently with the loss, spending as little time at home as possible, dodging his father's and their clan's legacy at all costs so he did not have to remember their _otou-san_ was gone for good, but angering Hanzo and especially their clan elders in the process.

Still drying himself from the involuntary but well-deserved soda-shower, Genji walked over to a claw machine, with Daisuke following him.

“What do you think, Hasebe. You think I can win my brother a pachimari so he gives me a smile and agrees on a night out someday? He is always so boring.”

Daisuke huffed. “I don't think a plushie helps with being boring. But I _do_ bet you can't even get one out, how about that?”

Genji snorted. “I might be the new family disappointment, but these machines have yet to beat me.”

With these words, Genji put a coin into the claw machine and started moving around the claw with the small stick. “Which would he like? The vampire? The mummy? Ginger bread?” he wondered as he moved the claw around and gazed at the timer every now and then. When there were only a few seconds left, the made a decision.

“Vampire it is!” he called out and slammed the button.

The claw descended into the pile of plushies and picked up two- one vampire and one angel. “Come on,” Genji murmured as the claw moved to the exit, dangerously loose. A sigh of relief escaped him only when the vampire plush dropped into the chute, and he let out a joyful laugh when the angel dropped down for him to claim as well.

“Unbelievable,” remarked Daisuke, obviously puzzled about how Genji had done this. “You impress me every time, Shimada.”

Genji snickered as he retrieved both plushies from the narrow slit at the bottom. “I am just invincible. All that talk in the world about humans versus omnic when these little machines here are all so easy to handle.” He gave the claw machine two pats.

Daisuke grunted. “You know that is not the same thing, right?”

“Of course I do, idiot,” responded Genji, stuffing the vampire pachimari into his pocket and eyeing the angel one. “Now, what to do with you,” he murmured, eyes falling on Daisuke. “Want it?”

Daisuke shook his head. “Why not give it to your soulmate?” he mocked with a snicker, causing Genji to give him a gentle shove.

“You don't believe that stuff, do you?” he asked as he went ahead, past his friend and towards the entrance. Daisuke followed after him.

“What if I do?”

Genji shrugged, still looking at the angel pachimari as he walked. “Nothing. Except that it makes you even more of a sentimental idiot than I thought.”

______________

Genji spent a few more hours playing games and chatting with his friends and acquaintances before he took his leave. When he stepped out of the arcade's door, icy wind brushed his face and the cold felt like a wall he had just walked into. The sun had long set, but had it still been shining, it would have been just as dark since thick snow clouds had draped across the sky, soft white sprinkling down on streets, houses and people. _“How odd,_ ” Genji thought, _“it is quite early for snow.”_

Yet, he was not complaining. He had always liked the winter months. Winter in Hanamura was short, but with terrible, biting cold. In the past, when winter rolled along, Hanzo, Genji and their father used to sit around the table, feet snuggled under the _kotatsu_ to stay warm, telling stories from today or their many yesterdays.

As he chased after these errant memories, Genji did not pay attention to where he was walking. At first, it did not matter much since the streets were empty tonight and only here and there someone shuffled through the cold and snow on the other side of the street, but suddenly, he was stopped abruptly as he ran into somebody. He fell back slightly after having bumped into the other's chest and saw him cross his arms before it. “Genji.”

Startled, Genji took a few steps back and picked up the angel pachimari he had still been holding and which he had dropped when he had run into the other man.

“Ah.. b..brother! What a- surprise!” he stammered when he realized who it was. Subconsciously, he squeezed the pachimari a little as he looked up at his brother's strict face. Displeasure and disappointment were written all over it.

“I missed you at table. We were to see some clan elders afterwards. You showed up to neither. The elders are enraged and-”

“And so are you,” interrupted Genji, heaving a sigh and trying to push himself past his elder brother.

Hanzo, though, shook his head and blocked Genji's way once more. “I am not angered. I am disappointed. I am disappointed because you fail to fulfil your duty. _Our duty.”_

At the word “duty” Genji made a grimace.

“You've changed, brother,” he remarked in a low voice and walked past Hanzo again. This time, the latter did not block his way again, but started walking beside him.

“It does not always have to be this way, Genji. If you for once complied with what we tell you.. if you for once accepted things for us have changed, it just- it would not have to be this way.”

Genji bit his lip.

“Our father told us to hold together. Yet all I feel is us drifting apart. What is it with pleasing the elders? What does it give you?”

“And what does it give _you_ to not obey them?” Hanzo barked back. “It is not like we have a choice, brother. We have made our bed, we must lie in it.”

Together they entered the grounds of their family's castle. Genji wanted to part ways with his brother immediately, in order to avoid further confrontation. Hanzo, though, was not having that. When Genji turned to leave, he felt Hanzo grab him by the wrist and give him a strong pull.

“I will see you in the dojo. I want to see if you practiced your sword or whether you have been slacking yet again.”

At this gesture, Genji first grimaced, but then he put on a gentle smirk. “Oh brother, it has been so long since we have sparred together. I will gladly accept your challenge. Let us make it a good duel so we may be warm again afterwards.”

When Genji entered the dojo, changed into training clothes and his sword strapped to his back, the atmosphere felt less warm than he had expected, but somewhat eerie. Heavy silence pervaded the air as if it were one of summer's more humid days. In the middle of the dojo's tatami stood Hanzo, his own sword on his back and arms crossed before his chest.

“It is no longer fun and games, Genji. I am afraid I must teach you manners.”

Genji startled at these harsh words, but came onto the tatami floor regardless. “You do not seem in good spirits. Maybe I can help you,” Genji said and smiled slightly. Yet, his smile only met a stone cold face with a displeased frown.

“Get ready. No more smoothtalking.”

Genji complied and pulled out his sword. “So be it then, brother.

Blades clashed loudly as the brothers began their fight. Already now, Genji thought that his brother's strikes felt different. It felt as if there were more force in his usually well-thought out and more gentle blows, and Genji had a hard time blocking the attacks without using much force himself. Soon, sweat ran down his forehead as the soothing cold he had felt outside had yielded nearly insufferable heat inside the dojo. For a while, they exchanged blow after blow and strike after strike, until one of Hanzo's slashes made pain shoot through Genji's shoulder and he tumbled back. As he felt for the place the pain had emerged, he felt torn clothes and warm blood on his fingers. He looked up at Hanzo in a mixture of shock and disbelief. Thus blow- it had not been Hanzo's intention to hurt him, or had it? No, he could never have intended to-”

Genji was ripped from his thoughts when his brother slashed at him again, even when he had not yet recovered. “Hanzo.. stop! What has come over you?!” Genji asked as he rose his sword again, more in order to defend himself than in order to fight back against his brother. He ripped a little at his clothes to give the blood more space to flow, revealing not only the wound in all its glory, but also a mark on his skin. The sight of said mark seemed to infuriate Hanzo for unknown reasons. Even more mercilessly he gave out blows, which his little brother soon was unable to block any longer.

Not much later, Genji felt nothing, except the scorching heat of blood all around. Next to him, on the tatami floor, lay the vampire pachimari he had stuffed up his sleeve only a few hours earlier. Had he not been close to falling unconscious, he would have joked about how now, the vampire had plenty of blood to drink. Yet, since it was his own blood all over the place, he did not get to think anything. It was so hot suddenly. Hot and humid, red... and fading to black like the sun setting into the night.

______________


	3. Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the long wait! What I originally thought to keep short, I now decided to expand from 3 to 4 or even 5 chapters.  
> Have fun reading!

When Angela's flight had touched down and she opened her phone in order to check for missed calls or messages, the first thing she read was that she was to come to the hospital immediately to meet the team and their patient. Her luggage, they wrote, would be transferred directly to the hotel and for Angela herself, a taxi was already waiting.

As convenient as this sounded, it was only a small relief for Angela. Even though she was used to getting only few hours of sleep or none at all, she would have loved to get a bit of rest to battle the jetlag that was to hit her most certainly in the next few days and weeks. But for now, a cup of way too thin coffee from the airport cafeteria apparently had to do.

As she stepped out of the terminal, it did not take her long to find the taxi they had messaged her about. The driver stood outside of it and held up a holographic sign with DR. ZIEGLER written on it in big, shiny letters. He was a rather scruffy man with a wild stubble, probably in his forties or fifties. Judging from his appearance alone, Angela would never ever have gotten into the same car with him, but as he greeted her with a proper bow and even held the door open for her, she got slightly more comfortable.

Traffic in Tokyo was a whole other mess than Angela knew it from her hometown. Not only did people drive on the left side of the road, which made her slightly dizzy, but also the amount of cars and people in general was nothing short of intimidating. In her heart, she thanked whoever had arranged things for not making her drive on these roads herself.

The taxi driver, in spite of Angela's rather unfavorable first impression, turned out to be a rather friendly and, above all, extremely chatty fellow whose English was surprisingly splendid. He told the doctor a bit about this and that, how he had studied at an elite university, but how he had taken too long to get his degree and how to this day, he was unable to find a job in his field and had to keep himself and his family over water with small jobs like working in convenience stores and driving taxis. He introduced himself as Hamamoto Tasuke and then went on about how a friend of a friend of a friend of his heard that there had been an uproar in the old clans who had their bases in the outskirts of the city.

At this information, Angela listened up. Even though she had only skimmed the files about her new patient, she thought to remember that they had mentioned him belonging to an old clan of criminals or assassins of sorts. What was the name again? Shi..manari? Shino? Shinobi? It was no use. She was too sleep-deprived to remember and thus did not inquire about the exact clan name or their members. After all, who knew how much truth there was in the taxi driver's words after all.

It took them nearly two hours until they finally reached the hospital. As kindly as he had helped her inside the taxi, Tasuke helped Angela out of it and bid her farewell with yet another bow and saying that he hoped to drive with her again sometime.

At the entrance, Angela was yet again greeted with her name written in big, holographic letters on yet another plate. The one holding it seemed to be an intern or a med student at best, for he was not older than maybe 21 years of age. Once Angela approached, he bowed with a small smile, revealing a toothgap.

“Pleathed to thee you thith thoon Dr. Thiegler,” he spoke and Angela's heart sank listening to that terrible lisp. Why had no one fixed this yet? If he was a med student, how would his future assistants and nurses know what he wants? She resisted the urge to give the boy a compassionate headrub and returned his bow instead.

The boy went ahead and lead her inside the hospital with its many different directions and wards. 

“We have to go to a private ward,” the boy explained as they went, him somewhat sheepishly leading the way and Angela following after him. When they had reached the ward, the boy stopped. 

“Here we are, Dr. Thiegler. I must leave you here now. I am not allowed in this ward becauth I am too inexperienthed.”

Angela acknowledged his words with a nod. “It is alright uhm- what is your name?”

The boy pointed at his nameplate. “Wataru, Dr. Thiegler. You are very welcome. Ah- here, I almotht forgot.” The student rummaged in his pockets and passed Angela a chipcard. “So you get through the doorth,” he explained, again being met with a nod of acknowledgment. He bowed once more and then hurried away.

As Angela used the chipcard on the doors and passed through them, she could not help but shake her head at the boy, Wataru. What a soft-spoken and kind idiot. Anyone she could think of, her past self included, would have not thought twice about checking out a forbidden ward when being handed the very key to it. Whatever drove that Wataru on the long run did not seem healthy. If it had not happened yet, he was bound to be taken advantage of.

Thinking a bit more about that Wataru and what a naive buffoon he seemed to be, Angela nearly passed by the meeting room she was supposed to seek out as they had told her in the text message from earlier. For the first time today, there was nobody waiting for her inside, and so she decided to look around the room for a bit.

The room had six lockers, each one with a name attached. Some of them had already been decorated, others still stood plain and empty. Angela skimmed the names on them swiftly, wondering whether one of the names sounded familiar, but none of them rang a bell.

The locker next to her own with only the nameplate saying  _ DR. ZIEGLER ANGELA _ , was quite stuffed with decorations. In fact, it was so full with pictures and magnets and other things that the nameplate was barely visible. Since no one was there, Angela felt safe enough to push a postcard from what looked like Scandinavia to the side in order to read the name.  _ DR. KANEDA NORIKO _ read the nameplate, and Angela thought to recall that name from the e-mails and text messages that had been sent to her about this special case that was awaiting her.

Angela was so absorbed into looking at the lockers and memorizing the names on them, that she got a little scare when someone joined her in the room.

“Ah! Dr. Ziegler!” the wheezy voice of a man spoke, causing Angela to turn around.

The person she was facing was a tall and rather skinny man with dark skin, probably younger than herself and ten times more enthusiastic.

“We didnt't expect you this soon! I will... I will let Mrs. Kaneda know at once! Once I uhm...”

The man fumbled with his sparsely decorated locker and took an inhaler out of it. He used it twice and now was seemingly able to breathe better and think and talk more clearly. He gazed at Angela apologetically after he had closed his locker again and spoke:

“Sorry for this. This is all way too exciting. I have never worked on something like this before. My name is Matthieu Andriamanantseheno, but you can all say Matt, that is much easier. They've flown me in just when I was about to visit home in Madagascar! And I am not even a doctor but an engineer and IT expert, specializing in prosthetic limbs and omnic parts! It is a fascinating field really, but of course I am not the one to tend to the patient one-on-one. I only adjust the parts if you know what I mean.”

It took a lot out of Angela to follow everything her new colleague was telling her. Not only was she jet-lagged and sleep-deprived, but also by now had forgotten the majority of the files she had skimmed earlier on the plane. Prosthetic limbs he said? Omnic parts? What in the world could happen to a person that required such special parts and an expert in the field from abroad?

She cleared her throat and said „That sounds exciting and like a great opportunity. If you don't mind telling me, though, how do we proceed for today?“

Matt let out a soundless “uh” and scratched his head, then took a deep breath and explained in a less rushed manner: “I will let Mrs. Kaneda know you are here already. Then, we will have a team briefing. It was originally scheduled for later because we thought traffic would be worse, but I am sure no one will mind.”

The man searched his belt and revealed his pager. “I can just beep her on her pager. Our pagers all connect to one another you know. Mrs. Kaneda will hand you yours then.”

Angela nodded and observed Matt pressing a few buttons on his pager, then her gaze wandered further to the locker behind him. Compared to the locker of Mrs. Kaneda, it seemed almost plain, yet there were some papers and a picture attached to it. The picture showed a few people and Matt himself at a sunny beach and Angela assumed this was his family, judging from the middle-aged couple on it that lovingly embraced Matt, a teenage girl and two smaller children.

Next to and half-under the picture, were two sheets of paper with drawings on them. The drawings had thin and precise lines and from afar it was hard to figure out what they were, but after some observation, Angela assumed they were concept drawings for prosthetic limbs with computer codes scribbled next to them, swiftly but not untidy.

“Mrs. Kaneda and the others will join us in a moment, Dr. Ziegler.” Matt's voice broke the silence again. “We can thus stay here and wait. Don't you want to sit down? I am sure you had an exhausting journey. Since this is a privately funded operation, they could not get us any more fancy means of travelling than economy class.”

As he spoke, Matt walked over to a small table with a coffee machine, a water cooker and a tea pot. “Tea or coffee?” he asked as he fumbled with the coffee machine. “I don't really drink coffee you know, it makes me all fussy and my lines become askew when I draw concepts. But they have amazing green tea here, you should try it. I learned they call it “ocha”. So uhm... Ocha wa? It's what they say when they offer you something. If you want some you can say 'hai onegaishimasu'.”

Angela snorted a little, amused by the man's enthusiasm for not only his job but also the culture they had flown him into. Actually, she was not a fan of green tea, but something told her that she should not make Matt sad when he was this excited.

Thus, she repeated: “Hai... o- one- onegaishimasu.”

______________

Heavy silence pervaded the air, not even broken by the beeping and sizzling of the monitors, cables and tubes Genji- or what was left of him- was connected to. Even if the man's perception worked, everything around him seemed dull and colourless, as if from now on he were doomed to live his life in monotone. Except for his eyes, he was unable to move his body, and sometimes, he would feel burning pain in limbs he was even more painfully aware he did not have anymore.

In his room, there were two more people of whom he could only make out their silhouettes and their voices, distinct ones, speaking words over words Genji did not understand- or did not want to understand.

One of them had a small physique and her voice suggested that she was a middle-aged woman, probably from the generation of his own parents. The other person sat by his bed. His voice was low and almost soothing, if it weren't for Genji's constant unease ever since he had woken up from a sleep he had never been meant to wake up from.

“Mr. Shimada. I want to ask you one more time. If you are ready to hear me out, please blink twice. If you do not wish to talk to me right now, blink once. I am ready to give you all the time you need, but eventually, you will have to hear me out and open up,” the low voice spoke.

Out of instinct, Genji wanted to turn his head away, but was reminded rather painfully that he somehow had been rendered motionless. With pain piercing his body, he did not remember the instructions and started struggling instead, causing himself even more torment.

The man with the low voice took a sigh.

“Mr. Shimada, please, you must calm yourself. I know you are going through great misery just now, but that is what I am here for. You may call me Selestino if you please so. I beg of you, stop struggling or you will rip out your life-support. We are here to help you find your way back into a life worth living, not rapidly end it.”

Had he been able to, Genji would have sighed. With what kind of soft-spoken idiot had he ended up? Was this what he called a life worth living? As a human stick? As a living weapon, a machine? Where would they place them when they were done with him? Maybe an arcade for people to own him like the countless clawing machines? He let out a groan, at least he thought so, but all that came out was a muffled whimper through closed lips.

The woman in the room took a sigh. “It's no use, Mr. Huanca. Days and days and he still won't respond without anguish. Not to you, not to me, not to Ms. Khalaji. If only Dr. Ziegler arrived already, we could maybe- ah.”

The woman broke off and seemed to fumble with something, then patted the man's shoulder.

“That is from Mr. Andriamanan- uh- from Matt. Dr. Ziegler has finally arrived! We can have a briefing in just a moment thus! Go forth already, Mr. Huanca, and I will follow after in a bit.”

The man got up and left at once, not without bowing before the lady. The lady then, sat down in his place and sighed.

“Shimada-san. You cannot just struggle against the fact that you survived. No one is here to harm you and we picked only the best experts to help you keep fighting. Please, do not throw away this chance. Kaneda-san will be sad, dear, if the team fails you.”

Motherly, the woman put a hand against Genji's cheek, one of the few places he felt anything else than pain and disconnect in. The hand was warm and something was pulsing inside. Pulsing... pulse... a pulse. What had happened to his pulse? The beat, the friends, never having to be alone- why was he so alone now?

The usually so happy and glowing eyes of the man grew sadder under layers of dullness. Kaneda-san seemed to notice and stroked his cheek for a bit longer.

“Don't be afraid. I must go now, but all of us will come back for you.”

With these words, she took away her hand, got up and left the room, leaving Genji yet again in silence.


End file.
